He Waited She Wilted (Ottilie and Yorath) novel Chapter 158

Yorath gave Jevon a long, piercing look before lowering his head back to the map.

His train of thought on Ottilie's possible location had been derailed, and he needed a moment to get it back.

Jevon didn't leave. He paced restlessly back and forth inside the small tent.

"Yorath, your mother..."

Yorath snapped the map in his hands, the sharp crinkle echoing loudly.

Jevon immediately shut his mouth.

"If I leave," Yorath said quietly, "can you guarantee Ottilie's safety?"

"As long as she is alive, I swear I will bring her back to you."

"Will you?"

"I will."

They locked eyes. Jevon was the first to look away.

"Why do you dislike Ottilie so much?" Yorath asked.

Jevon sat down on the small folding stool beside Yorath and aggressively ruffled his own hair.

*What was he supposed to say?* Ottilie was the woman in Yorath's bed.

Could he admit he liked her?

If he didn't criticize her, was he supposed to say she had a smoking hot body, a great personality, was beautiful, kind, and wildly good in bed?!

That wasn't about simply 'liking' her anymore.

Yorath would literally beat him to death.

"I don't dislike her," Jevon muttered after agonizing over his words for a long moment.

"When you find her, don't give her a hard time anymore," Yorath instructed.

"Since when have I ever—" Jevon swallowed the rest of his sentence.

He stood up abruptly. "Like I'd ever dare give her a hard time. It's a miracle if she doesn't treat *me* like garbage! To quote Elian, the only things Ottilie looks at with those eyes of hers are you and stray dogs on the street. You think she even registers it when we give her attitude?"

"Wait, I'm not calling you a dog! Elian said that, not me..."

Not daring to look at Yorath's expression, Jevon tore open the tent flap and bolted into the rain.

After lunch.

Yorath was finalizing the afternoon search grid when a rescuer came sprinting toward the tent, breathless and frantic.

"Mr. Fordham! We found Ms. Sewell's body."

For the first time, he didn't wait for Nyssa. He stepped out of the tent, walked a few paces, then paused, turning back to grab his trauma kit before marching off after the main group.

Nyssa hurried to catch up with him. "Always so thoughtful. You knew Yorath's health is failing, so you grabbed the kit."

Elian didn't respond, keeping his head down as he practically jogged to keep pace with the team.

Nyssa was an avid fitness enthusiast; trekking a few miles in the mud was nothing to her. Her stamina easily matched the men's.

The group hiked for over two hours until they reached the extreme edge of the landslide—a deep ravine right beside a choked riverbed.

The rushing stream had been entirely dammed by the collapsed earth.

Massive boulders, some the size of small houses, had tumbled from the peaks, stacking up and crushing ancient trees into splinters.

A rock the size of an SUV lay snapped entirely in half nearby.

The guide pointed to the largest boulder in the pile. "Right behind this one."

Yorath stood completely still for several excruciating seconds before forcing his legs to move.

The group scrambled over the jagged debris. Pinned beneath the colossal rock was the mangled wreckage of a broadcast camera.

And right next to the camera was a single shoe.

The sole of the shoe was facing outward, painting a horrifying picture: it looked exactly as if someone had been entirely crushed beneath the stone, managing only to stick one leg out in a desperate, failed attempt to escape.